


There's always the chocolate

by songbird (pondlife)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And lots of chocolate, Dysfunctional Relationship, Endverse Cas, M/M, Rating is subject to change, Sexual Content, Substance Abuse, Violence, in later chapters:, poor attempts at humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondlife/pseuds/songbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel isn't having a good year. Between his unsettling new standing with his kind-of-ex best friend, the blackmailing from his...whatever, and his MIA brother, the chocolate may be the only thing that loves him at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's always the chocolate

 

Only one with as slender a grasp on typical social boundaries as Gabriel would consider it an acceptable practice to put cling film over every one of the school toilets the first day back from summer break. The unbelievable mess was exceeded only by the smell, or so Cas was told. Although, Castiel would be lying if he said that he didn't get a good laugh out of it when approached by a rather solemn-face Anna at lunch.

“It's not funny, Castiel,” she said.

Castiel grinned around a mouthful of Andy's 'home-made' brownies. “It's a bit funny.”

In light of such events, Castiel was none too surprised to arrive home that same day to the kind of shouting that demonstrated his father's impressive lung capacity, and the kind of effortless retort that only someone as devil-may-care as Gabe could shove in their father's face.

There was a lot of talk about Gabriel being a 'disgrace' and a 'bad influence on his younger siblings' that being Castiel and Anna, and a lot of bitter laughter and accusatory remarks that Gabriel's mellow was being harshed. In the end, Cas headed back out the door and perched himself on the step, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket in which a pitiful amount remained, a fact which soured his mood further with the knowledge that his remaining packs were all menthol. Before long, Cas felt his phone vibrate and the most unappreciated number flashed on the screen.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing but to hear your dulcet tones, my sweet.”

Castiel rubbed a hand over his face – he was far too sober for this. “Unless you're calling me to make an offer, would you kindly fuck off?”

Crowley chuckled. “Feel free to hang up, but I think you'll want to hear this.”

And damn it, Castiel could _hear_ Crowley grinning as though he totally had Cas's number, which Cas would've taken great issue with, if it hadn't in fact been true. 

“Okay, what have you got for me?”

“Well, a little bird tells me that Dean Winchester has been asking about you and, being the giving soul that I am, I may have divulged a few details.”

Cas snorted. “Because you have a wealth of information on me?”

“Darling, don't underestimate my ability to bullshit.”

“Hold up.” Castiel scrambled to catch up with the whole _Dean_ asking after him thing. “Why would Dean want to know anything about me? And why would someone else ask for him?”

“Got me, I'm just a humble messenger.”

Cas frowned. “And just what bullshit are you passing around these days?”

Crowley's grin was practically leaking through the phone, and Cas could almost feel it chewing at his ear. “Oh, this and that. Mostly that you've started on the big leagues.”

“The big leagues?”

Crowley sighed. “Drugs, Castiel. Like, shooting up all Western saloon style, except with needles as opposed to guns.”

Castiel was so not surprised that he was surprised that he wasn't surprised. “My head hurts.”

“Take a pew, there's more fun to be had,” said Crowley. “You'll need your strength.”

The line went dead then and Castiel stared at his phone for a good few minutes, considering his life choices thus far that left him in an acquaintanceship with Crowley, estranged from his best friend, and living in a den of dickheads.

 

**x**

 

Dean was Castiel's first friend and, being only two months older than Dean, there was little to keep them apart growing up. They were the unstoppable force and the immovable object, a paradox that was damn near the ruin of all but themselves. As much as children of six could have the world at their feet, they certainly had it; they would be banned from play areas for starting fights, which mostly consisted of Cas biting the chubbiest kid and holding on for dear life, swiftly followed by Dean who would beat the ever living crap out of said kid for trying to attack Castiel, who would still be leeching onto the poor soul. They, with their big, sad eyes, could wrangle anything out of anyone with half a heart – that mostly being toys until they turned thirteen, when it became games consoles or, in Dean's case, an air rifle. With wide blue eyes, Castiel cheated Gabriel out of the new stereo he'd been hankering for over a course of five months in favour of getting a PS3 out of their mother.

In spite of that, they certainly made Gabriel proud.

Then, when Cas was fifteen, Dean's mother died and his father hit the bottle – hard. His little brother was sent away by social services, to live with a family friend in Sioux Falls, and Dean started hanging around Cas's most days out of the week, which eventually became every day, which then became spending nights sharing Castiel's double bed.

“No funny business,” Dean had said the first night, to which Cas had frowned and said, “I thought sleepovers were supposed to be fun?”

Castiel never did ask why Dean spent those months sharing his bed, but he had his own impressions of how Dean's father treated him after losing his wife and youngest son; Dean would often let himself in through Cas's bedroom window, solemn-faced and quiet, and take his frustration out on aliens or zombies on Cas's PS. And then there was the day that Dean showed up with a rather spectacular black eye and a transparent story about walking into a door; the last day before Dean became a permanent fixture in the Novak family home. It was at Cas's discretion that Dean wasn't tormented for sharing a bed with a dude at school, not that he seemed fussed anyway, and Cas never asked the whys and hows in case Dean got pissed and left him.

Not that it mattered now anyway.

 

**x**

 

Castiel was seventeen now, and he hadn't spoken to Dean in half a year. This, however, was not cause for concern in his father, who had never approved of their so-called codependent relationship. Anna, on the other hand, could always be counted upon to bring up the entire shit-storm at the worst possible moment.

Like when Cas was sitting down by the creek before class, smoking something that sure as hell wasn't his typical brand of go-to in times of mild to great turmoil, but was certainly doing the trick if the swaying of the world and significantly increased weight of his body and head were any indication - that, and Anna's horrified reaction to his appearance.

“What are you smoking?” she asked. Her frown was rather comical, for some reason. “You're eyes are really red.”

Cas smiled and widened his eyes, making an assiduous attempt to focus of his sister's wavy head. “Er,” he said.

Anna sighed and sat down beside him in the grass. The sunlight sparkled on the surface of the water at their feet, the stones below shimmering. Above them, a bird soared out of a tree, disturbing several leaves that fell into Castiel's lap. He made a show of picking one up and denuding the stem, bringing to mind memories of he and Anna as kids, tearing limbs from her old dolls when she decided she no longer wanted them but hell if she was letting good will have her stuff. Their mother had been furious. Michael had called them immature. Anna had called it 'Project nobody-else-should-be-subjected-to-my-leftover-crap'.

“Is this about Dean?”

Cas giggled himself back to the present and flicked a piece of leaf at Anna, although it fell a bit short and she didn't even notice the attempt. “Why do you assume that my general self-destructive behaviour stems from the end of my friendship with Dean Winchester?”

Anna offered him an oblique glance, fiery red hair dancing in the wind. “Because that's when it started.”

“Maybe,” said Castiel, throwing away the naked stem with vigour, “it's a coincidence. Maybe I've always been like this. _Maybe_ you're only just noticing a God damn thing about me because you feel guilty that you couldn't stop it.”

“Cas...”

Castiel expected Anna to be offended. He expected her to take that as her cue to leave him the hell alone, but his sharp tone did nothing to deter her. Instead she angled herself towards him, evidently about to get down to some serious mother hen business and Cas was having none of it.

Cas finished the last centimetre of whatever the hell he was smoking and threw the remains into the stream. Anna watched him with soft eyes as he stood and brushed grass from his jeans, and Castiel felt that pitying gaze adding fuel to his mounting rage. “Put your energy towards something else, Anna,” he said. “I'm not your project.”

 

**x**

 

As if that wasn't all sunshine and lollipops, Cas had an entire day ahead of pretending he wasn't high as a kite. He fluked his way through three classes with nothing to speak of his attendance but a despondent grunt in response to the sound of his name at registration, bypassed an attempt on his life by a phantom stair from the history department, and all but hid from Gabriel as he passed him in the hallway, whistling 'another one bites the dust' as he went. At lunch, he successfully cleared out half of the vending machine in the lunch hall and went to town on an assortment of crisps and chocolate out by the quad, and it was then that he was finally discovered, or stumbled upon, by Sam Winchester.

“Cas!”

Castiel started, his mouth dropping open and spilling an impressive amount of skittles onto the paved floor. “Sam?”

Sam approached him across the quad, all gangly limbs and messy hair and boyish grin. The boy had gotten _big._ He wrapped Castiel in a hug that felt remarkably similar to how Cas imagined being caught by an octopus would feel. “How are you?” Sam asked, holding onto Cas's shoulders and grinning like they hadn't seen each other in years. Which, Cas recalled, was the case. Last he knew, Sam was living in Sioux Falls with some man called Bobby and shooting cans like a pro. Dean had taken great pride in the fact.

“Erm,” said Cas. “I'm good- but what are you doing here, Sam?”

Sam's face fell then, and an expression came over him of great concern. “You don't know? I mean, I thought Dean would've told you.”

Castiel imagined he was the poster kid for ignorance, all slack jawed and wide eyed. “Dean and I aren't exactly on speaking terms.”

Sam's frown deepened. “He didn't say...” Sam seemed to catch himself, and he shook off whatever he was about to say. “Dad died about a month back, and Dean flat out refused to move to Sioux Falls, so Bobby and I moved out here with him.”

Castiel spluttered – this conversation was really putting a damper on his high. He was so far out of the loop that he couldn't even see the rope. He thought of Dean, whether he'd noticed any difference about him during classes or out in the halls, but he'd always been too busy acting busy or distracted that he'd accomplished that which he was trying to achieve – ignoring Dean completely.

“I'm sorry, Sam – about your dad,” said Castiel. “I know you weren't all that close, but...”

Sam smiled a little sadly. “Thanks, man. It's been hardest on Dean, though. He's been really quiet lately, never really around the house or anything. I thought you guys were still speaking, I mean, he never said any different, so I assumed he was with you...”

Castiel thought about shaking his head, but Sam was barely keeping his structural integrity as it was with Crowley's stuff still fogging up his head. “I, er...I'm sorry, Sam, but I should really go. I've got a...thing.”

“Oh, course, sorry. I didn't mean to keep you.”

“It's fine, Sam.” Castiel summoned what he hoped was a passably comforting smile. “It's been great seeing you again.”

Sam smiled a little more honestly. “You, too, Cas. I'll tell Dean you said hi?”

That's what Cas thought he heard, anyway. He was already halfway across the quad, head drumming out a beat solid enough that it could support a bass line. A month. John died a month ago and Dean hadn't said a word. If Cas was another kind of stupid, he'd be on his way to confront Dean about the whole 'withholding of information' thing, but that wasn't his place anymore. As if stood, he was well on his way to Crowley's typical haunt round the edge of the main building, a little enclave that was more damp and moss around a wall (with no discernible purpose) than anything else.

“Ah,” said Crowley upon spotting Castiel's rapid approach. “I gather I've done something unfavourable.”

Cas felt his lip curl and his hands came up of their own accord to shove the bastard against the wall. Crowley didn't even have the decency to act surprised when Cas secured a good hold on his throat. “You knew.”

Crowley frowned. “You'll have to be more specific.”

Cas grabbed him by his shirt and shook him, eliciting a rather displeased response (“watch it, pretty boy, that's Armani”) but still not the one he was looking for. “Dean,” Cas shouted in his face. “You knew about his dad, you knew and you kept it from me.”

Crowley chuckled, although there was a flush on his cheeks. “I love it when you get all tall, dark and angry; touches me in my naughty place.”

Castiel grumbled angrily and dropped Crowley in disgust, who promptly straightened out his shirt and levelled Cas with an evaluating stare. “Well, now that we've all calmed down – I told you all you needed to know.” He shrugged. “It's not my fault you didn't do anything with the info.”

Cas growled in frustration. “What _info_? You haven't told me anything!”

“Come now, sweetheart, it was only last week.”

“You mean...” Castiel frowned. “Dean asking about me? And...Sam, you're 'little bird'. That was Sam?”

Crowley whistled. “Got it in one.”

“But...Sam said he didn't know that Dean and I weren't talking.”

“He didn't.”

Cas groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I am seriously confused.”

Crowley licked his lips, as though Cas's distress was a flavourful delicacy. “Well, I think I've divulged enough for today. I'll leave you to your thoughts, my dear.”

“Wait!” Castiel was going to kick himself for this, but... “You told Sam. You told him what I've been taking?”

“Yup.”

“And he told Dean?”

Crowley nodded. “I think it's safe to assume as much.”

“Shit.”

Crowley chuckled and offered Cas a casual salute as he left. “Shit, indeed.”

 

**x**

 

It wasn't that Cas gave a flying fuck what Dean thought of him anymore, it was more that, after everything that'd happened between them last summer, Dean was more than entitled to (in the words of Crowley) 'fuck his shit up'. It wasn't exactly a secret to Cas's fellow students that he was frequently a little more out of it than your average person, but rumours and straight up facts were two very different things, and if something got back to his father, well...

At this point, Castiel saw two options: a) giving up the drugs, or b) getting on his hands and knees before Dean and begging him not to say anything.

Sadly, Cas had his pride, as well as a wealth of reasons not to give up smoking and snorting and poking himself with drugs. Even more sadly, he couldn't think of a plan c.

Castiel groaned and flopped back against the couch, wishing he could melt into the oppressively hot leather that nobody liked but his father and live out the rest of his days as an inanimate object that had no responsibilities but to bring comfort and wasn't even very good at that.

“Sup, little bro,” said a passing Gabriel, on his way to the opposite couch which he proceeded to throw himself onto with very little grace but a great degree of dramatics. “How was your day? Mine sucked balls.”

Castiel would have gladly bet that his day sucked way bigger balls than Gabriel's, and wasn't that a delightful mental image that Cas immediately discarded in favour of watching his brother attempt to suffocate himself in a couch that was about as malleable as wood. “I hear our very own Sammy Winchester is back,” he said, with a very well practised nonchalance.

Cas felt a smile pull at his lips. Ah. “So, still got a thing for minors?”

Gabriel huffed. “I did not have thing for Sam Winchester when he was a _child_.”

Cas pursed his lips. “But you do _now?”_

“I didn't say that.”

“You pretty much said that.”

“Shut up, Castiel.”

“Good comeback, Gabe. Really, top form.”

Gabriel pushed himself off the couch and levelled Cas with a withering stare. “You're lucky I love you, or there'd be green dye in you shampoo tomorrow.”

“I appreciate your mercy.”

Gabriel's grin was like a flash of quicksilver, and then he was gone as quickly as he'd arrived, and left Cas wondering just what that was all about. Of course, Cas had no time to dwell on it, because Anna's timing was like clockwork.

“Cas?”

Cas frowned. “Did you just see Gabriel?”

“What? No. Where have you been?”

Cas gestured grandly to his surroundings. “Here, generally.”

Anna huffed and dropped onto Gabriel's vacated seat, her hair bouncing with the abrupt movement. There was a folder in her hands, probably something to do with the debate club. “I've heard some worrying rumours about-”

“Well, it's a good thing they're just that,” said Cas, throwing his arms over the back of the couch. “Rumours.”

Anna sighed, apparently exasperated already. “Cas, you're not listening to me.”

“You're not saying anything of interest.” Cas drummed his fingers along the leather and arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

Anna's hair appeared even brighter in times of great anger or frustration and, if her fiery hair and icy blue eyes were anything to go by, this was one of those times. “I just thought you'd like a fair warning,” she said. “Dean's been looking for you.”

Castiel ignored the sudden and rather painful thumping against his ribcage. “He can't be looking very hard,” he said. “I've been sitting here for the past hour.”

Anna shook her head. “Did you really expect him to come _here_?”

Cas angled his head in thought. “Where else would he look?”

With only Anna's silence to go by, Cas was given a pretty good idea. As such, he felt himself completely justified in releasing a string of profanities and all-around colourful language that would have his mother turning over in her grave and his father slapping his face into orbit.

“If you're so worried about Dean going to Crowley,” said Anna, edging towards bewildered rather than the previously noted outright hostility, “why go to him yourself?”

Cas didn't pause in pulling on his boots. “There's a can of worms I'm not going anywhere near. Right now, I've got a reputation to maintain and possibly a dealer to pacify.”

“I thought you didn't care about your reputation?”

Cas's laugh was more of a huff than an exclamation of amusement. “And let's all continue to labour under that apprehension.”

Ten minutes and a line later (purely to keep his nerves in check), and Castiel was banging down Crowley's front door with all the force necessary for the job without the actual removing of the door from its hinges. Another minutes or so later, and Crowley threw open his door to reveal some rather spectacular bedhead and wonky pyjamas.

Momentarily forgetting himself, Castiel choked on a laugh and said, “it's 7pm.”

Crowley sneered. “And I have to be up early, you ingrate. What do you want?”

“Where's Dean?”

Crowley blinked. “Sorry?”

“Is he here? I heard he might be here?”

“Aw. And you thought you'd come to his rescue, well, isn't that sweet. Sorry to disappoint, though, but he's not- oh, would you look at that?”

“Cas?”

Castiel started and turned, surprised not to have noticed the approaching footsteps, particularly as Dean wasn't the most light-footed of people. Perhaps he'd picked up a few skills in the past seven months. Like forgetting Castiel's existence.

“Dean?”

He doesn't look any different, Castiel thought. Wasn't grief supposed to change people? Castiel expected bags under his eyes, a drawn look to his face, a deep and impenetrable sadness in his eyes. But, no. Dean looked the same as he ever did: perfect. The bastard.

Crowley glanced back and forth between the pair, clearly amused by the proceeding staring match, and the general awkwardness unfolding like a flower blooming in the spring. “Not that this isn't highly entertaining,” he said. “But I must insist you fuck off from my doorstep and let me go to sleep.”

Castiel spared him a glance. He wasn't remotely sorry, and so he didn't say as much. Dean, clearly on a similar wavelength, flipped him off. Crowley turned and kicked the door shut, throwing Castiel into motion.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, stepping into Dean's personal space barrier without any due care for his well-being. Cas felt his face contorting with anger. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Dean asked, succeeding in sounding both annoyed and confused. It was a truly impressive feat.

“Looking for me.” Castiel was shouting now. “Asking about me when you've done nothing but ignore me for the better part of a year. What do you want with me?”

“I'm just...”

“JUST WHAT?”

Dean lifted his chin a fraction. “Like you care, anyway.”

Castiel snorted and pushed past him, imagining that his furious walk made him a blur of motion along the roadside. Dean, however, caught him up.

“I wanna talk to you,” said Dean, dragging Castiel to a stop.

Cas pushed him off. “Fuck you.”

Rather suddenly, Dean shoved at him, and Castiel was startled enough that he didn't react when another shove sent him to the ground. His landing could have used a bit of work; as in, not flat on his back with the wind knocked from his lungs. Dean stood over him with clenched fists and the expression of a man at the end of his tether. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Nothing.” Castiel didn't bother getting up – he had a feeling he'd only end up being pushed back down. “I'm not the one doing the stalking here.”

“I'm _trying_ to help you,” Dean insisted.

Castiel laughed. “With what?”

“With everything.” Dean groaned into his fists. “You're tearing yourself to pieces, everyone can see it! Hell, I don't know, maybe I don't want to see you sticking yourself with whatever Crowley throws at you!”

Castiel sighed - he'd expected this. “Sam told you, then.”

“Of course he did.” Dean seemed to calm somewhat, and he looked very worried all of a sudden. “He's your friend, too.”

And that, that was hilarious, and Castiel couldn't stop the hysterical laughter from bursting out. His sides ached and his lungs burned with it, until he thought he might puke up his lunch if he didn't stop soon. “Y-you!” But, in all honesty, it wasn't funny at all. “You think-you think you're my _friend_?”

Dean was going on the defensive; his posture stiff and his expression closed off. One thing Dean could never handle was rejection, and Castiel knew that.

Castiel stopped laughing abruptly and pushed himself back up, keeping his distance this time around. He levelled his gaze on Dean, his oldest friend gone stranger. He thought of water gun fights in the summer and sharing his bed and fighting over who _really_ won at darts and Dean's body draped over his and cooling sweat on their skin and- The world seemed suddenly very far away and, when he spoke, he sounded utterly resigned. “We aren't friends, Dean.”

Dean was breathing slowly and heavily. “I _am_ your friend,” he said. “Even if you're not mine.”

The wind was picking up, a nice reprieve from the stifling heat lingering from the summer. Castiel thought he smiled then, but it wasn't the sort of cruel gesture he was going for. “Well,” he said. “We've reach an impasse.”

Dean's answering smile was so fleeting it may as well have not existed at all.

 

 


End file.
